I've been here at Miss' house for almost a week. She's been amazing. It's been really hard, she's helped me so much.
I'll admit that the first couple days I didn't really do much but cry and sleep. And then she mentioned wanting cookies. Just idly. And somehow next thing I knew I was baking cookies in her kitchen and she was looking at me with these bright starry eyes and I felt actually happy for the first time since... well. You know.
No matter how much it feels like your heart will break at each new tragedy, life moves on. The little things still happen to make you smile or laugh or cry, and eventually even the most bitter and desperate person starts to notice the happy moments again.
I'm not over it. I may never be over it. I loved them, and they died for me, and I'm not sure I even want to be over it or over them. But I'm recovering. I feel alive again, and I need to get moving.
I left Miss' house this morning. It's strange and sad and terrifying to be alone again but the three of them left me enough money to get by for a while until I figure out my next move.